The Butcher has these awesome friends who are trying to develop an award-winning burger. So, every Thursday, he goes to their house to eat some new burger concoction. Last week was Spinach Artichoke and this week is Southern Breakfast Burger.
I cannot even begin to tell you how excited I am about the Southern Breakfast Burger. I wonder what it entails.
So, I turn thirty-six on Saturday. It’s weird. I haven’t done a lot of the stuff I thought I’d do–no husband, no kids, no great novel. But I have done a lot of awesome stuff I never would have even dreamed I’d do. And I have met people so amazing and… I don’t know. My dreams for myself were too small.
Well, not the novel part… But the “don’t hope for too much” part.
Now, I don’t really hope for anything at all.
Not in a depressing way.
It sounds depressing. But I hope you read it with the sense of wonder and awe I intend for it. My life has been better than I could have hoped for.
So, maybe I do hope for that–that I will continue to have a life better than I could have hoped.
Anyway, happy birthday to me. Yes, this is early, but that’s what I’m thinking about.
The mascots for the London Olympics look like the offspring of Plankton and his computer wife, so I’m just going to assume that that’s what they are.
Baby ditch weed or some kind of feral cinquefoil? (And yes, it makes no sense that I’m asking you and not my resident drug expert, but my resident drug expert is sleeping.)
Tiny Cat Pants 